


A Productive Meeting

by Oilan



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff, Gen, Sledding, Snow, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 15:24:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5253317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oilan/pseuds/Oilan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac notices his friend becoming worn down by his responsibilities at the hospital and takes it upon himself to administer a remedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Productive Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chainsaw_poet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chainsaw_poet/gifts).



“This is such an odd place to meet.”

Standing at the crest of the snowy hill, Courfeyrac turned around upon hearing Combeferre’s voice and saw him struggling up the steep slope, puffing a little in his exertions.

Courfeyrac smiled. “Nice of you to join me!”

“Why on earth would this group suggest meeting here of all places?” said Combeferre, halting in front of him, slightly out of breath. “I suppose it’s remote enough to be secretive, but-“ He suddenly seemed to realize that Courfeyrac had brought a certain something along with him, and he eyed his friend suspiciously. “Courfeyrac, _what is that?”_

“Oh, you know.” Courfeyrac was grinning. “A little something to make this little meeting as productive as possible. That is to say: a sled.” He gestured at the plaything dragging behind him, terribly pleased with himself and not at all bothering to hide it.

Combeferre frowned. “You told me we were scheduled to meet a group interested in co-writing a newspaper. Why did you ask me here if not for that? This is the first day off I’ve had in weeks.”

Courfeyrac experienced a twinge of guilt at that last point but in truth, it was the very reason he had persuaded Combeferre to meet him on this hilltop, in the countryside just outside of Paris. It was Combeferre’s first winter at Necker, and though Courfeyrac had only the vaguest idea of what medical interns got up to, he was well aware of Combeferre’s long hours, his grave, whispered discussions with Joly about his patients, the constant tension in his shoulders and strain in his expression. Though both Courfeyrac and Enjolras would sometimes ask Combeferre if he was well, if he would rather have his work for the Society delegated to someone else to allow himself a rest, Combeferre would merely give a wan smile and brush off their concerns. The more miserable and tired he seemed, the more uneasy Courfeyrac grew, though Courfeyrac knew if he mentioned any of this now, Combeferre would dismiss these worries yet again.

Instead, he grinned widely. “Combeferre, you are supposed to be observant! Take a look around you! Paris and, indeed, the country around it are simply breathtaking in the wintertime. And don’t you know that when the ground is blanketed so beautifully with snow it is vital to take full advantage of the occasion? Of course-“ He had the grace to appear a little guilty here. “If you would rather return to your lodgings at the hospital to spend your day off, I will understand. I only meant for us to have fun today.”

The frown on Combeferre’s face softened a touch. “I could have slept in,” he grumbled, though without any real annoyance behind it. “But I suppose it is a lovely day…”

“Excellent!’ Flushed with victory, Courfeyrac happily pulled the sled to the top of the slope and sat upon it. “Well? Sit down, Combeferre! Winter days are short; there is no time to waste.”

His friend eyed the sled skeptically. “I’m certain this sled was made for one small child, not two grown men.”

“That is no matter,” said Courfeyrac. “We are revolutionaries, and therefore not slaves to convention. Besides-“ He grinned. “You will fit easily- you are not very big.”

For a moment, Combeferre regarded him so seriously that Courfeyrac worried he had caused real offense, but then Combeferre suddenly smiled, set his foot on the back of the sled, and pushed. Courfeyrac, entirely unprepared for this, let out a profoundly undignified yell and fell off the sled halfway down the hill, the skirts of his coat flipped up over his head. He might have been indignant if not for the very welcome sight of Combeferre laughing so hard he could barely stand.

After that, they were more evenly matched in terms of ungraceful conduct. Combeferre consented to sit on the sled with Courfeyrac to slide down the hill, or at least to attempt to do so. The little sled, so strained and unwieldy with both of them riding on it, tipped over two thirds of the way down and launched them both into piles of snow. Battered but almost beside themselves with laughter, they tried again - and again, and again. It took them a long while before they finally reached the bottom without crashing, and their cries of triumph rang out over the countryside.

Courfeyrac had not felt this free or lighthearted or _silly_ since he was a child running and tumbling through the fields of Provence with his siblings. He was yet more pleased that even after what seemed like their hundredth time down the hill, Combeferre was still smiling. His face was pink with cold, but he seemed happier than Courfeyrac had seen him in months even as he allowed himself to be tugged out of a snowdrift.

“We’ll be completely bruised and sore by tomorrow,” Combeferre said, dusting himself off. “No matter, though! How long have we been out here?”

“Hours and hours,” said Courfeyrac. “I’ve lost track, really.” The sun hung low over the city, and flurries of snow had begun to fall once more. The lull in their activity allowed Courfeyrac a moment to realize how cold and wet he actually was after spending an entire day outside.

Combeferre was gazing at the setting sun as well, rubbing his freezing hands together and plainly wishing he had worn better gloves. “As much as I hate to suggest it, perhaps we’d better start the walk back. We don’t want to be caught in a snow shower in the dark.”

They began to make their way back into the city, walking slowly due to the increasing snowfall, tired in the particular way that follows a full day of fun. Reluctant for their enjoyment to end, and a little worried that Combeferre would lapse into melancholy again now that he was faced with the darkening sky and a return to the hospital tomorrow, Courfeyrac acted in the only way he saw fit. He bent down to scoop up a handful of wet snow and flung the snowball at Combeferre. It hit him in the arm and splattered over his coat. Combeferre retaliated, and the resulting chase and battle through the streets of Paris made them, if possible, even more cold, wet, and happy.

As they were walking west, through the more familiar neighborhood of the Latin Quarter, they passed through the little streets just north of the Luxembourg Gardens. It was snowy enough that there were not many people about; even the students of the Sorbonne had wisely holed themselves up in their rooms or in cafés.

“I miss living here,” Combeferre confessed, looking around fondly. “Lodging at the hospital is convenient now, of course, but living here meant I was right in the center of everything.”

“Well, it’s not as though you can’t visit certain other friends here,” said Courfeyrac, nodding up the street at a lone familiar figure hurrying their way, head bent and clutching his hat to prevent the wind from carrying it off. _“Enjolras!”_

Enjolras looked up at Courfeyrac’s call and regarded them with obvious bafflement. Courfeyrac supposed they must have looked a sight, completely soaked through their clothes and covered with dirt and snow.

“What have you been doing?” Enjolras said as soon as the other two caught up with him.

“We have just concluded a very important meeting,” Courfeyrac replied, tipping his muddy hat to his friend. “It was quite productive and much good was accomplished.” Enjolras raised his eyebrows.

“We went sledding,” said Combeferre, a little sheepishly.

Enjolras appeared to bite the inside of his cheek. To anyone else, this would have seemed a grave and disapproving expression, but Courfeyrac knew it was merely to hide a smile.

“You had better come upstairs,” said Enjolras, inclining his head toward the building in front of them. “My room is here. We wouldn’t want you braving the elements any more today- no matter how productive your meeting may have been.”

 

* * *

 

“I cannot believe the two of you nearly froze yourselves messing about in the snow all day,” Enjolras said, hanging up their three coats and hats once Combeferre and Courfeyrac were settled on his sofa with blankets around their shoulders.

“We’re taking you along with us next time,” said Combeferre. Courfeyrac was struck with the vision Enjolras, as austere as he ever was, careening down a hill at breakneck speed on their tiny sled, and laughed heartily at the image. Enjolras merely shook his head good-naturedly and turned away to stoke the fire and boil a kettle of water.

Courfeyrac nudged Combeferre in the arm. “Good day?”

“Yes, very.” Combeferre smiled. “It’s almost a pity though- I was quite interested in the prospect of publishing a newspaper.”

“Oh!” Courfeyrac reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a crumpled, slightly damp slip of paper. He unfolded it and handed it to Combeferre with a flourish. “There you are: my notes. I met with the group yesterday. You see, Combeferre, I am not _completely_ dishonest! They are a small group of workers- smaller than even we are, but I believe they can be trusted. Those among them who write do so with quite a stark candor. Enjolras will be pleased about that; I’ll make a full report for our next meeting. Our next _real_ meeting, that is.”

Combeferre smiled even wider and handed the paper back to Courfeyrac, pulling his blankets closer around himself. Enjolras, finished with the fire, handed Combeferre and Courfeyrac cups of tea and coffee respectively and sat in his armchair, holding a mug of overly sweet coffee for himself. Courfeyrac, looking at his two friends with utmost fondness, was warm in his blankets and utterly content as the wind and snow picked up outside.


End file.
